Pathfinders (Working Title)
by Erethas
Summary: Takes places during Guild Wars One, Post Searing. A ranger and her friends embark on the adventure of their lifetime to help put things to right after the devastation caused by the Searing. Temporarily on hiatus; was written several years ago and is in need of work. Rated T just in case.
1. Wistful Thinking

Chapter One: Wistful Thinking

A young ranger, hardly more than a girl, with a great bow and a quiver slung across her shoulders and a long dirk hanging from her belt, stood on the worn dusty path, over shadowed by the Great Northern Wall. Placing a hand on the worn and battered stones with something akin to reverence, she looked ahead. Further down the path was a small gap in the wall, big enough for two or three to walk abreast with ample space with a sign nearby. However, the sign was not needed; everyone except for the most naïve and sheltered knew that beyond lay the Breach; the unstable terrible rift that the Searing had inflicted on the wall. Now the whole place was crawling with Charr and other beasts. Ambushes by Grawl or Charr, centered on bands of unwary or incapable travelers, had been constant occurrences until, at the mere mention of the name, experienced traders and hunters fell silent, warding themselves against bad luck.

Briefly dropping her hand to touch the dirk's hilt, a somewhat steely glint, tempered with youth, appeared in her eyes. Though she could hardly be called a woman and was still in her teens the Breach had provided her many opportunities, some of them without fruit, to strengthen her skills and collect useful items or the occasional pouch of gold by fighting any invaders that she found. Not bothering to turn around, she said in a quiet but determined voice, "Let's go," and ran towards the gap, followed by her three comrades and the melandru stalker, her longtime and closest friend, Ravagnar.

At the end of the gap, standing by a narrow corridor leading to the North and therefore directly to the Breach, was a welcome sight. Ever since the Searing Torin the guard had kept a constant post, and she had never once been there with him absent. Adorned in armour, a sword at his side and a shield in his hand, Torin had "persuaded" many lone or small groups of enemies from passing into, or out of, the region below the wall. Dark eyes in a face not without scars watched them approach with warm familiarity, the guard's stance relaxing slightly. Nodding in their direction, he said gruffly "Planning on collecting more Charr hides to sell, youngsters?" He smiled.

The ranger stopped next to him, carelessly motioning to her bow, Ravagnar sitting at her foot. "You misjudge us, Master Torrin," she said in a mock pompous tone, nodding to the others. "By the time we'd finish with them they'd rather be choked by their own bowstrings and fed their own tails, if the dead can be reincarnated, than cross our paths again." This caused him to chuckle.

"If what you say is true, I'm glad that we're on the same side; it seems like there is a never ending amount of them. I wish it was as easy as that – that it would take nothing to drive back the enemy and gain a never ending peace."

"But then life wouldn't be as interesting," interjected Mranik, a warrior in his late twenties. "And there wouldn't be any Grawl or Charr waiting for us to join their parties and merrymaking. I wouldn't be able to fine tune my skills."

"Hah, you and your so-called skills," said Brindin the mage, rolling his eyes. "Running around screaming and hitting things with pieces of metal may be considered skills by numbskulls like you but not to me; my area of study consists of far more studious and difficult arts." Torrin stood a little taller; Brindin's description of Mranik's skills appropriately described his career as a soldier and guardsman.

"Hey, I earn my keep by guarding this portal day and night from the beasts who slaughter our men. I have known others who wouldn't last an hour against a minor bandit party. If I have no skills, youngster, then tell me how I've kept this way clear of enemies."

"By your solid bul –" His reply was cut short by the last of the ranger's companions who had stepped forward and had started to speak. As small as she was, the glare in the monk's blue eyes was intense.

"What I want to know is how long any of you would last in a full-out battle outnumbered and without a healer. Having to run around everywhere after you while being chased by a load of Charr hot on my heels is not my idea of fun. And that's not the only part of it – I always try to catch up heal you, and I'm glad to, but as soon as I turn my attention elsewhere you try to get yourselves killed and as always jump in the thick of it without a care in the world. If I were the mother of Prince Rurik or Tydus or whoever is commanding I'd give them a strong scolding about sending healers and young rips like you puppies out in the field." Ironically, Fenora was the oldest of the group, by only a few years and with the exception of Torrin, but as is the case with a lot of healers she had a strong motherly instinct toward any person who was in her group. "Think about their emotional state by the time they've been out there for a day – " While the healer proceeded to launch into a full-scale monologue, Theaden and Mranik exchanged glances over her head, knowing full well that once she got started she would be hard to stop; the victims tended to have headaches by the end of it. Fortunately it was Brindin who saved them.

"Ok, ok, we get the point, Fenora," his not fully-concealed impatience betrayed in his voice. "I mean, we're sorry we keep putting you through this, and we're grateful for your healing powers. It's quite a good chance we would almost all be dead if it weren't for you." Fenora's eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"I know you're trying to sweet-talk me into forgiving you, Brindin. It wouldn't be like you if you weren't. Apologies accepted; only next time this happens I won't be so lax." Theaden was having a difficult time hiding a smile, despite the circumstances and the threat of Charr looming over them. Looking over to Torrin she thought she saw a somewhat amused flicker in his eyes. Thinking about what would be immediately next she raised her hand to her face when she remember that it was hidden up to just below the eyes by her Hunter's Mask.

Brindin sighed loudly, as if he was exasperated. "Well, we do owe you. I guess we can turn back and do this quest when it's more convenient, though I'll sure be sorry for all those travelers passing by the area that we could have saved the trouble for." A subdued but forlorn expression appeared on his face, as if he was already grieving. This soon disappeared when Fenora's jaw hardened. "I'd rather not go, but I can't stand the thought of innocent people getting slaughtered just because we didn't do something that we could have. After all we are doing him a favour. We should go straight away before those beasts cause any more undeserved deaths just because we decided to turn our backs!" The grin on Brindin's face was apparent to all; she looked like she wouldn't had flinched if someone told her they were going to battle one hundred Charr all at once.

Turning to Torrin, Theaden explained, "A few days ago we ran into Ranger Nente and spent the day together. Before we departed ways he told me that there was an active war party of Charr in the Breach. He believes that they're forming a plan, if executed it could inflict a powerful blow. Last thing he said to me was to find and kill the leader, Gorgaan Hatemonger, and that is where we're going." At his Torrin nodded knowingly, growing slightly pale.

"He's a fine, slippery rogue, he is . . . Gorgaan Hatemonger. You're serious about taking him on? Several have tried to kill him and several have fallen under his axe but yet he still lives and leads a warband, an experienced one at that."

"Scum like Hatemonger should never have been born – many lost ones would still be here if it weren't for the Charr. Balthar's Beard, I might as well try and I'm sure Nente wouldn't have asked me for nothing. Plus it's not like we fighting the whole band – it's not like this is my first fight."

"That I do not doubt," replied Torrin. "It's mostly been fresh upstarts who are too cocky for their own good who come pass this way nowadays; most come back missing a body part or sumthing – it's rather sad. I always say it's the seasoned warrior who thinks ahead."

In the background, Fenora snorted audibly, rolling her eyes, muttering to herself "Riight . . . ., so seasoned that they can kill Charr with one blow."

Theaden nodded. "True, true. We'd best be going, 'case more of them come by." Taking her bow from her shoulder she looked over it briefly to make sure all was well. Satisfied she hoisted it upon her shoulders. "You never know what might happen. "

"When you come this way again, tell me how things went.," replied, the guard. "I'll be interested in hearing of the fall of Gorgaan Hatemonger.


	2. Mediations

AN: Hallo folks. As of 2015, this is the most I have written. Please bear with me, I will see if I can get my creative juices flowing and revive this story from the dead. Currently I no longer have access to Guild Wars 1, having switched to a Macbook but more than likely the information I may need can be found elsewhere.

-  
After exchanging farewells, the party of four humans and one panther departed the guard and ventured down the rough-hewn stone corridor to arrive in a jumble of unconnected walls, arches and fallen boulders, thickly-black shadows lining them in a variety of shapes and sizes. The feeling of unseen eyes watching them hung over them; any number of menaces could be cloaked in the shadows, ready to jump and waylaid any unwary trespassers. Any words or small snatches of talk were drowned in silence, and no one had to be told to keep quiet. Nonetheless Mranik's heavy footsteps and the clink of armour were almost stifling loud, bouncing of the various walls and rebounded with an eerie echoy quality to them. By the time five minutes had passed, Theaden was wondering why they were still unbothered. Perhaps they were merely watching . . . waiting . . . . planning an ambush and toying with them. Her senses were miserable for any creature able to survive in this desultory landscape, despite the fact that hers were far keener than most humans'. After many months, she learned that by watching Ravagnar and studying movements she could tell whether there were presences nearby that only Ravagnar could detect. The panther's eyesight was strong, but his ears were stronger still; flicking this way and that, they caught minute sounds coming from all directions. Looking over to him walking soundlessly by her side, she saw that his position was relaxed; there was nothing that could threaten them nearby. Reaching out a hand, she scratched him fondly on the ebony, almost purplish, furry back; her bow resting in the other. She stopped when she felt him tense; Ravagnar stopped in his tracks and raised his head, staring intently at a pile of boulders some distance further up the trail, though separated by a stretch in between. Motioning to the others to stay where they were, Theaden walked off the hardly defined worn dirt track and moved swiftly if not silently into the direction of the boulders, the panther's graceful fluid movements shadowing her own. Half a minute later they arrived at the foot of the blocky mound. By now Rav's fur was bristling, mouth turned in a noiseless snarl. Theaden herself was feeling slightly uneasy, disliking not knowing what was so near, so close but hidden from view. Grabbing a rock projecting from the side and putting her foot in a nook, she climbed upwards to the top.

Her head topped the crest she saw what it was that had caused Ravagnar to become alert. Starting where the rocks met the ground on the other side was a small dip and standing on the other side of that on a low hillock were two reddish-furred Charr, the craven beasts who killed anything on sight and burned everything they couldn't kill. One was holding a bow, a green-fletched arrow already knocked. The other, versus the few spotted skins that the first wore, was clad in dented and scratched armour, making the broad-shouldered Charr seem even bigger. Slung over one shoulder was a formidable axe. Both of them were standing straight and seemed to be looking for something, as they kept peering over the nearby rocks and into the distance.

Sentries, Theaden thought with distaste. Not very good ones too. They stood in plain sight on top of a hillock without any kind of shelter within a safe distance, with the exception of the rock that served Theaden as a lookout. It was not very defensible; her mound was the nearest shelter of any kind, and yet a fair distance separated it from the Charr. However, she could see why they might have chosen the position; standing in the middle of the open space with a fairly large radius, the archer could cover the warrior as it went to attack intruders. This meant that in order to attack them in relative safety, one would have to have a large range. This sort of situation would be a disadvantage to warriors; while attacking the Charr warrior hand-to-hand, they would be peppered with arrows as long as they were in open. If anyone would try and attempt to attack the archer, they would probably immediately be attacked by the Charr warrior as well as the archer. This way, when the Charr didn't have any other form of protection in the form of rocks, they would protect each other by attacking anything that threatened their counterpart, if not, themselves. Brutes these were not, though they would not last long under a massive wave of attackers, partly because they had no base rock nearby were they could take refuge, they could certainly pick off more targets than in they could in a full-scale unorganized battle. Only her forehead and eyes showing, the ranger assessed the weaknesses and strengths of the scene before her. Providing that they could stealthily and swiftly if need be, and had a good long-ranged weapon, one on his or her own could take them down by slipping from rock and rock, shooting regularly and without being seen, in a hit and run fashion. It wasn't exactly what you called "honourable", but when it came to the invading Charr all bets were off, as long as the methods used worked. In possession of a powerful bow, and tracking skills that could almost be said to match a cat's, Theaden had the tools she needed, a credit to her mentor Iulnyn, an old family friend.

In the days before the Searing, when there was no war, Charr or hardships, she had spent most of her time training with Iulnyn in Regent's Valley and the surrounding countryside. During those years she hunted, battled virtually harmless skale (back then it was a huge accomplishment even to kill one), and met Ravagnar, among a large collection of other experiences. Everyday was devoted to her training as a ranger, and no day was the same. They could spend one day making troll ungent (the ingredients obtained from the actual troll were from Iulnyn's own private store), and the next stalking up to a rabbit without it even noticing. Other than being busy the days were filled with peace, but within a matter of a few short days they were all too quickly over for good. Early in the first awful year following the Searing, Theaden had entered the Vanguard, with Iulnyn's blessings of Melandru in her ears. Remembering that first pain-filled day, the ranger felt an almost overwhelming sadness well up inside her but she angrily forced it down. She recalled how Iulnyn, with his lovely bow slung over his shoulder, had stood by her just before she was to go into the tent to be admitted into the Vanguard.

"Will I see you soon, Iulnyn?" she had asked with the naive innocence of the young. An expression more serious than usual (and he was usually serious) crossed the older ranger's face, and looked at her thoughtfully.

"That I do not know," Iulnyn replied slowly. He clasped her shoulders and bent slightly to peer into her eyes, his dark brown hair, with a few threads of grey, framed his own somber dark grey eyes. "The events of late have proven to be almost irregular in coming, if not fierce, and I may be called away at any time with no warning. I would never leave you if I had to decide, and I'm sorry that I won't be there in your unit. Though you may feel that you're alone among strangers you don't know, plenty of them haven't had the experience you've had and are only beginning to learn to fight. If it helps you'll always be in my foremost thoughts." Though she tried to hide them, the girl's emotions must have been betrayed by her face, for he drew her towards himself and clasped her to his chest. Chin resting on her head, he gently patted her on the back.

Her face buried in his flowery smelling tunic, she said, voice muffled, "Iulnyn?"

"I love you more than I would love my own daughter if I had one," came the  
somber reply. The young girl snuggled closer to him, even less assured than before. Iulnyn allowed them to stand there for a minute before stepping back.

"It is a large and seemingly overwhelming change of pace for one your age," though you must learn to adapt to the changes you may encounter, or you may find you've lost heart. Be strong and have faith in yourself, Theaden. Though you may not realize it you have a strong sense of being a knack for survival. In order for this to do you any good, you must learn to let go . . . the days of fantasies are over . . . . The real adventure has begun and you may find many challenges in the near future. The Vanguard is no place for the soft-willed, which you are most certainly not. The first days are the hardest, and once you've passed those you will be able to pass them all, even in the darkest hours. Strength comes from the person inside, not from the outside –" She stared at him, her eyes shining.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked, though deep in her heart she had a suspicion of what the answer was. Iulnyn gave her a glance that could almost be called shrewd, his gaze seemingly to go right through to the bones. When he spoke, his reply was not one she wanted to hear.

"I do not need to tell you the answer, Theaden, as you already know it and have known for some time. Each day it becomes a slightest bit clearer than the day before; when I wake up in the morning and go to bed at night I can tell by how I'm a little bit stiffer, how I'm not quite as spry as I was in the days of my youth . . . . Oh, I'm well young enough survive and even thrive in the wilds on my own, but one of these days I will wake up knowing that I'm no longer able to walk through the woods knowing I can vanquish any enemy that I come across." At this Theaden turned away, blinking in the blinding light of the sun, to avoid looking at him. Her eyes wandered and fell upon the bright tent of the merchant; the only bright spot in the blasted and burnt landscape. Iulnyn continued, undeterred. "I have a sickness . . . an incurable sickness that drains the life, ones energy, and makes one old before their time, steadily. It will be painless, as far as I can tell, and will only take a few more years, at best."

"Stop it." Her voice was hoarse sounding, her face was feeling scratchy and the ground was seemed flicker before her. Her voice caught and her throat felt like it was being squeezed - "Y-you're lying . . . you're playing some horrible joke on me."

"Theaden!" At the sudden harshness in his voice, the complaint died in her dry mouth even as she moved her lips. "Remember the bears we had found by the river that day?" he asked. Slowly, reluctantly, Theaden raised her eyes to his grey ones, both stern and kind, and nodded. Iulnyn took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "That was no joke." There was a small silence, and when he spoke again his voice was more firm. "You must understand that I am telling you this not to hurt you, but to help you. If you don't face the hard facts of life you many never expect to live a true life at all. No life is perfect; not even the life of the Royal Family. Sooner or later everyone has to face hard phases in their life and learn to overcome them. In order to do that, even if you don't understand it, you must be able to accept it." Theaden looked down at the ground, subdued, full well knowing that a disease, which she had only met two people in her life with it, had her tutor in its grip, though she was unwilling to acknowledge it. To acknowledge it was to . . . give up all hope, in her eyes. To give up hope was to lay one's head on the woodblock and therefore forgoing any chance for survival, but, then again, one must always know what they're facing, be ready and prepared, and to be willing to go through the trials ahead. There was no easy answer to some things, no way around them, and by denying it she was only making it harder for herself when it would happen. After that . . . she would only have herself to rely on, if she could manage things by herself. In order to do that she would at least have to go through a large collection of varied, and difficult, experiences, and to achieve these there was no place better than the Vanguard, where she was now. By craning her neck slightly, she could see the Registering Tent not far up the path from them. Feeling somewhat more adventurous she turned back to where Iulnyn was looking at her expectantly, almost looking hopeful.

Turning the matter over in her mind once more, the young ranger became focused. "Yes, Iulnyn, I understand . . . and accept it." The atmosphere suddenly felt less stifling, less obscure as if a veil had been removed. Her sadness gradually began to fade, and she managed a smile, which Iulnyn returned, a sort of pride just visible in his stance.

"That's my little panther," he said, reaching forward and ruffling her hair. "I always knew there was some resilient rangy person of good judgment in there – what was that for?" He shielded himself with an arm after being poked sharply in the ribs.

"Rangy? Who's rangy? I can hardly dare think that a walking pole could say that." Theaden snorted in amusement when Iulnyn glanced at his stomach, muttering, "Walking pole indeed. I'll give you a pole, if you do know what one looks like, but I doubt it." Recovering a staid expression he straightened as if nothing had happened. "Now then . . . . lets see what we can do about signing you up, my dear friend." He made as if to head toward the tent, but stayed where he was, taking his bow off his shoulder. "Theaden . . . before you go, take my bow . . . ." He held the bow out for her to take it in both hands. It was surprisingly light; the oiled wood was beautifully carved and adorned with mysterious runes. The bow was supple and flexible, despite it's considerable age , while the strings were in excellent condition. She looked at him with astonishment.

"But, your bow . . . ." This was a very great act that must of taking a good deal of thought . Out of all his possessions, the bow was the one he treasured most, far above the others. He clasped her hands around the grip, and then lowered his own.

"It's yours now; it's my parting gift. I've had this almost all my time as a ranger, and I've yet to see one like it. Now, I think it would best if you had it; I'd rather not have it hanging above an abbey's mantelpiece for the rest it's years. Both of you together will make each other impeccable counterparts, stronger than I, for a feel that the times are changing even as we stand here and soon there will be no need for I, as well as others, just as I won't need the bow any more."

"It's – it's – are you sure you want to give it to me?" said Theaden, her voice rising. "I may break it on accident or something. It's always been you're favourite; and I'm not even grownup yet. And I didn't think to get you anything." Iulnyn chuckled, slowly shaking his head. From somewhere in the distance, there was the sound of a horn. The older man looked at the gate across the courtyard briefly, his smile gone. He stared at it for a few seconds before turning back, and spoke a little more quickly.

"There's no need to get me anything; knowing and training with you and Ravagnar has been enough – I don't need anything else. As yours, I'm sure of it Theaden – I've thought long and hard about it with good thought. It's for you . . . and it's for the best. Treat it with care and gentleness like you would a friend, and it will stay strong and whole. Have faith and trust, and it will fly true for you as it did for me. The things a ranger find that he or she needs most is a bow and a companion. You've known Ravagnar for a long time, and now you have a bow, a good bow whose marks will not fail, if you heed my words. This is all the advice I can give for our time is short, besides that you may find allies in unexpected places, likewise enemies in friendly-seeming guises, and that not all words spoken are true to their meaning."

Two soldiers walked past them, their hands on the hilts of their swords, one of them murmuring, "This is the second call today; you'd think there was nothing else for them to do." Theaden shifted a little nervously. Even a country girl like her knew that second calls before the sun and reached halfway to its zenith were intermittent.

Iulnyn, looking slightly worried, said, "It is time for me to go, regretfully. I would rather go through the process with you to make sure things go all right, but the Charr do have a bull's lust of fighting and setting things afire. Goodness knows whether it's an temple or a group of travelers, or just anything for that matter. I trust that you'll take care of yourself while I'm gone and find good company; I may be gone for a few days, but we can talk later when I come back. You never know how long things are going to take." When he smiled, a somewhat sad smile, Theaden, feeling weary, stepped forward and hugged him.

"I'll miss you Iulnyn," she said miserably, rubbing her eyes. She was sure she was going to burst into tears if they kept on talking like this. She came from a family of warriors, elementalists and a thin scattering on rangers; strong-boned men and artistic women. Her father had been the head of the family of Artosks, Hryans and Garrows, and master blacksmith of Ashford and the surrounding villages, and the family lived a bountiful life until one awful night, when a piece of cleaning rag had fallen into a sleeping fireplace long after everyone had retired to their beds. Theaden, only seven then, was the sole survivor, of the group. Her whole family was gone in less than ten minutes. There were shadowy rumours that there were a few in the far off Shiverpeaks, and possibly beyond they had developed efficiently ways of not talking about the Shiverpeaks for they were the kind of people who's whole world consisted of farming and blacksmithing and the immediate countryside – the very thought of going to the foothills made them uneasy. The only members of the family who enjoyed going on adventures and exploring were Ailanil and Durml'ay, the two Garrow siblings, both of them had been accomplished rangers. One day, some years before Theaden was born, two children showed up at the doorstep with their ill grandmother, who told them that they were Garrows, and that the Artosks and Hyrans were the only reachable relatives, and that they had come from somewhere near the Shiverpeaks. The elders, as well as the rest of the family were somewhat puzzled, for the name 'Garrow' was not familiar to them nor had they heard of any family from that far away nor had they. Finally, after a day, Elder Hryan, Theaden's mother's great grandfather, recalled the name. He then had told them that when he was a very young, that there was some sort of scandal. One of his Hryan aunts had fallen in love with a reckless ranger named Garrow and they had eloped. The last they had heard of them was that they were headed toward the Shiverpeaks.


End file.
